


A Night Off

by horchatita394, weathervaanes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Car Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Grocery Shopping, Tattoos, Vaginal Fingering, responsible people trying to be irresponsible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2037522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horchatita394/pseuds/horchatita394, https://archiveofourown.org/users/weathervaanes/pseuds/weathervaanes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He smirks, reaching past her shoulder for a bag of frozen vegetables and leaning close enough to whisper, “I am the Law, Melissa, I’m not really supposed to be adorable.”</p><p>“Well you are,” she says, grabbing the cold bag right out of his hand and putting it back, “and we’re not at the produce section yet.”</p><p>It’s part of their routine of sorts, going on nearly two months now. It’s not like either of their kids knows or cares about when the groceries get done as long as they do, eventually, get done. That’s why they never noticed that their parents had coordinated their grocery shopping days into late Wednesday nights and made out in the produce section.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night Off

"You'll never be able to slip that one by Stiles," Melissa teased. She pulled the bag of chips out of John's grip and ignored his pleading eyes.

“If I’m buying the groceries I should be able to have a say,” he sighs as he grabs a bag of whole wheat bread.

She grabs a bag of tortilla chips and some salsa and puts in her cart, “You know better than that by now.”

As she heads to the refrigerated aisle, he glares at the markedly more delicious contents of her cart. “Your kid’s got a superhuman metabolism. It isn’t fair.”

She stops and turns to grin at him. “You’re adorable when you pout you know that?”  


He smirks, reaching past her shoulder for a bag of frozen vegetables and leaning close enough to whisper, “I am the Law, Melissa, I’m not really supposed to be adorable.”  


“Well you are,” she says, grabbing the cold bag right out of his hand and putting it back, “and we’re not at the produce section yet.”

It’s part of their routine of sorts, going on nearly two months now. It’s not like either of their kids knows or cares about when the groceries get done as long as they do, eventually, get done. That’s why they never noticed that their parents had coordinated their grocery shopping days into late Wednesday nights and made out in the produce section.

“I was thinking it’s time we got out of the produce section.” He grabs the bag back and throws it in his cart before he grabs her warm hands and kicks the fridge door closed. She throws a quick glance around the aisle and leans into him when she finds it deserted.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says, brushing her lips against his.

 

If finding the time to go on an actual date proves challenging enough for two full time rotating schedule working adults, it’s all that harder when their kids are trying to fight off professional assassins every day. It’s only because they do still have to eat that they get to see each other in the pseudo-private of the empty supermarket. 

They roll their carts side by side down the pasta aisle, stealing glances and not saying much.  


“Scott will be alright,” he says after a little bit of silence, “he always is, and he’s got all of us looking after him.”

Melissa nods and stops. He stops right beside her and wraps an arm around her while she leans her head on his shoulder. “I’m just exhausted. We deserve a day off, you and I.”

"We do," John agrees, and he kisses the top of her head.  "And we'll get them."

"We should go to Disneyland or something," Melissa suggests, hand on his chest, "or--I don't know.  Even just the movie theatre.  To a real movie, with real movie theatre popcorn, and hot dogs."

"I'll get you real movie theatre popcorn."

 

The next Wednesday afternoon Scott bangs the house door open with a shout of, “Hey, Mom!”

She turns to find him followed by Malia and Stiles. Their arms are filled with groceries they carry effortlessly and plop down on her kitchen counter.

“We got you food,” Malia says plainly, “Lydia says it isn’t fair for you to buy enough for everyone and cook it too. I can’t cook, so I made everyone put in money to buy the food.”

“And by made,” Stiles says as he sets his things down, “she means physically shook down. But I mean, I’m happy to pitch in to the feeding us fund.”

She blinks at the spread. It’s not all she usually gets, there’s an alarming amount of meat and eggs, but at least the basics are there.

“Thank you,” she says as she takes Malia’s hand over the counter and squeezes it reassuringly, “that’s very good of you.”

“I mean at first I said they didn’t have to and you know,” Scott says as he pulls things out of the bags and shrugs, “but everyone chipped in and they do eat here all the time. We’ll do the same for Derek next week.”

 

Melissa helps them put all of the food away and is deliberately not thinking selfish thoughts about how she isn't sure how she's going to excuse herself away to see John again.  She could call him, she supposes, and tell him what Scott did, but she doesn't want to just--not go.  It would be like standing him up.  So, later, when Scott and Stiles and Malia are still sitting on the couch, half watching television and half talking, she grabs her purse and her keys and tries to nonchalantly leave.

"Do you need something, Mom?" Scott asks, looking over the back of the couch.

"There are just some more things we're going to need for the week," she says, smiling calmly.  "I was planning on going out to get them anyway."

"If you make us a list we'll go for you," Stiles offers.

She puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder as he starts to rise from his seat. “No need. I’ll be back – later. I might stop by the hospital to check up on one of my trainees. Don’t wait up. And Malia if you’re staying call your dad and you better be asleep in my room when I get back.”

Malia frowns, “But I always-“

Stiles clamps a hand over her mouth. “She’ll be there.”

Melissa makes a quiet warning noise and hopes to God she isn’t too terrible a parent.

 

She’s just turning on the right avenue when she spots the Sherriff’s patrol car parked inconspicuously on the corner. She slows to a stop and lowers her window.

“Heard the food fairies got your stuff for you this week,” John says as he leans over to his passenger window.

She grins. “They missed the toiletries and cleaning supplies.”

“Think it can wait another week?”

She checks her mirrors and parks behind him. She’s not exactly worried about tickets and it’s not a towing zone anyway. She walks over to the passenger seat of his car; he’s still in uniform and it makes her heart flutter.

“What about your list?”

He leans over and pushes the door open, “To be honest Stiles was starting to wonder why we always have an extra carton of skim milk. Speaking of which, I have the craziest craving for a milkshake. Wanna join me?”

She slips into the car with a stupid grin on her face, feeling like a sixteen-year-old sneaking out to meet someone older; sneaking out to go to a party and be her usual rebellious self. She never was one for rules as a kid, and it feels liberating, even now, to know she doesn't have to follow every single solitary rule.

The diner in Beacon Heights is quaint. It's small and cute and has a jukebox in the corner. They slide into a booth and a waitress immediately approaches with menus.

"A chocolate milkshake for the lady," John says with a smile, looking straight at Melissa, "and vanilla for me."

"Coming right up."

"Stiles is at my house," she starts.

"I know," he says, "he still sometimes remembers to ask before he goes out."

"Malia is there also," she continues, "so maybe I shouldn't stay out too long."

He extends his hand across the table and she places hers on his, naturally, effortlessly. "Malia Tate is at my house every night of the week. She's in at a quarter past whenever I get into bed and she's out half an hour before I'm supposed to be up."

"That's very trusting of you," she says with a grin.

He shrugs, "I trust him not to be a complete idiot. And after everything the last thing I want to do is be a hypocrite about the one thing that's making him happy."

"Had a lot of girls sneaking in your window, Sheriff?"

He laughs. It feels like she hasn't seen him laugh in years. "Girls I dated were a little more old fashioned, but I did get pretty inappropriate in my car sometimes. To be fair it was very nice car."

Melissa beams.  "I'm sure it was."

 

Their milkshakes show up and Melissa doesn't even try to slurp it up through her straw before she grabs for her spoon and starts scooping the whipped cream into her mouth.  She pops the cherry onto her tongue, tugging off the stem, and John watches her.  He watches her like he's watching a television program, just stares, half smile on his face.

"There's this trick," he starts to say, and Melissa has the cherry stem back in her mouth before he can finish his sentence.  
  
She plays around with it; it's been a while but still almost like riding a bike. She sticks her tongue out, confident in the cherry stem knot sitting at the tip. He laughs as she plucks it from her mouth and lays it on her napkin.

"Impressive," he says after a moment. He sounds just a little bit breathless and she's more proud than embarrassed about that.

They talk, mostly about the boy’s, a little bit about the past.

“You remember that night – you must have been in high school.”

“A senior,” she says with a smile, “I thought I wasn’t going to be able to graduate.”

“Well you did wreck school property,” he says through a laugh, “but I wasn’t ever going to write you up for it.”

“I think I figured that out when you handed me a pastry,” she says, brushing her thumb over his hand, “I think you just wanted someone to show your wedding pictures to.”

He shrugs. “Yeah that might have been a big part. But you did deface school property.”

“What ever happened to that girl, huh,” she says wistfully.

He takes her hand and kisses the back; she can’t help but blush at the sweet gesture. “She fell for the wrong guy, did the right thing when things got tough, raised an amazing kid...”

She nods and plays with what’s left at the bottom of her glass,"…and stopped winding up in jail cells at the Sheriff's office, trying her hardest not to flirt with a newly married deputy."

John looks down at the table, almost like he's blushing.  "You wouldn't have flirted with me back then."

"I would've.  I probably did.  I don't really remember."

“Maybe I wouldn’t have noticed then.”

“I don’t think you would have, not the way you loved her. I remember seeing the both of you taking Stiles to daycare, I remember wishing someone loved me the way you loved each other.”

She grabs his hand then, stares at the pale band on his finger. “John, your ring.”

He gives her a small smile and pulls a simple chain from his shirt; the familiar ring hangs from it.

“It was actually Scott who, admittedly by accident, gave me the idea. He was talking about Allison, about respecting the dead and allowing room for the living. He was trying to reassure Kira and I realized I … we’re not children, we have pasts and we’ve loved and that doesn’t mean that we can’t – that I can’t get out of my own way.”

Melissa is amused by that, incredibly.  "My son was the one who convinced you to ask me out?"

"Does that kind of ruin the whole sneaking-around appeal, even if I was eavesdropping?"

"No," she tells him, "although it does make me wonder what Scott does and doesn't notice."

"You might be surprised.  Both of them are..."  He looks down at their hands.  "Both of them are a lot smarter than either of us gives them credit for sometimes."  


She leans back against her seat. “It’s nearly midnight.”

“Do you need to get back home?”

She sends a quick text to Scott and he reassures her they’re still home and there’s no trouble. She sends another to Derek Hale and he concurs that there’s nothing presently trying to murder anyone to his knowledge.

“I think I’m fine for a little longer,” she finally says.

He pays for their milkshakes and opens the door to the cruiser for her. It feels like a real date, the kind she hasn’t even attempted to have since that disturbing instance with Peter Hale.

It feels new even though it’s been simmering beneath the surface for real, his smile makes him warm and part of her feels like a kid again. She was never a very good kid.

“So, being the Sheriff, you know where your deputies are.”

“More or less,” he says, “I’m off duty.” He taps at the radio.

“And yet still in uniform,” she says with a wicked smile.

He blushes and it’s beautiful, “I didn’t want to be late.”

She can’t help, doesn’t want to help, leaning over and kissing him.  They’re at a stop sign nowhere near their neighborhoods, so it’s safe, secret, theirs.

He pulls away when the car behind them flicks their lights, not quite daring to honk at a cop.

He’s blushing again and it just makes her want to keep that rosy color on his cheeks. “You know, this is a pretty cool car. I mean the sheriff’s patrol car? I don’t see a hotter ride in town.”

She does a private mental victory dance when he starts turning red. He doesn’t say anything, but she knows she’s about to get her way because he’s not going in the right direction at all.

“Come on,” she says as she takes his right hand, “we deserve a night off, right?”

John glances at her before putting his eyes back on the road.  "If Stiles is at your house--"

"I meant something maybe slightly reminiscent of your shady past with girls in the back of your car, Sheriff," Melissa says, and it sends a thrill straight through her, the way it used to when she broke the rules as a teenager.

 

He makes a couple of turns and parks them next to a warehouse, hidden enough to seem like just another cop in a late night speed trap. It’s the kind of place she’d be afraid of if she were there alone, if she weren’t being pulled out and pressed up against the door of a police car.

She loves the way he kisses her, the way he digs his fingers into her hair and holds her waist and knows what he’s doing. She reaches behind her for the door handle and grabbing his shirt while she pulls him into the backseat. She’s not going to lie, the space is small and the cage between them and the front seat is doing it for her.

His holster, his belt, it all needs to come off before he can even imagine getting in there with her and there’s little mistaking what she wants, what she’s pretty certain he wants too.

When he’s finally crawling inside and pulling the door closed behind him it’s a hilarious tangle to get them situated, but she manages to crawl on top of his lap without either of them in unbearable discomfort. It’s very bearable; actually, the way he holds her hips as he leans up to kiss her.

His kiss is confident and gentle, and even though she could do a little rougher she also knows John. She knows if it’s been a while for her it’s been even longer for him. She tugs off her cardigan which is when the reach the line they never crossed when they had a few minutes to grope at each other like idiots behind the supermarket or – most regrettably – at the bathroom in a gas station. This is uncharted territory for them, but she’s glad to see there’s no hesitation. His hands play at the hem of her shirt, his fingers drawing patterns on her bare skin. She rocks against him, and God it’s been so much longer than she remembers. He must be thinking the same because he clings to her hips a little tighter, his breath stuttering out of him.

She takes off her own shirt.  It's easy, a soft, cotton tee that she tugs off over her head, sending her curls scattering over her shoulders.  It's been a while since she's been naked with a man, and she's never ever been naked with John, but she's past the point--past the age--of caring at all, and has been for quite a long time.  She's trying to get him out of his shirt too, then, but she also never wants to stop kissing him.  He kisses her like they really are teenagers tucked away, threatened by curfew and parents and, well, the law. He kisses her and it makes her excited, thrilled really, and she grins into the next kiss, hands on his face.

"Here," she says, and she helps him lift his arms in the small space so she can take off his undershirt.  His uniform shirt had already found its way unbuttoned and over his shoulders and is tucked against his back, gathering the sweat from his skin and keeping it off the leather seat.

Now that he’s stopped kissing her for a minute, he holds her shoulders and rakes his eyes over her like she’s all that forbidden food. He runs a hand over her side and she shivers, as if the marks on her skin were still freshly inked.

“I had no idea,” he breathes out, “but I should expect that from you.”  
She grins, still proud of her well kept secret. It’s large and she doesn’t regret it, still thinks of her family every time she sees the bird. Besides it’s no match for her mom wardrobe.

“Really? I was so sure everyone in town had seen at least part of it,” she whispers, if only to keep the space between them hushed and secretive. He shakes his head slowly, eyes still on it before he kisses her inked side, making her giggle.  
  
“Stop crouching over,” she chides, pushing him back against the seat and leaning down to do some exploration of her own. John doesn’t have any hidden tattoos but there are a few scars, at least half of which she treated herself. It’s not the first time she’s seen him shirtless, but it’s definitely the best circumstances. He takes her hands in his when she starts to run them over his sides. “Not all of us age with your grace,” he laughs.

“Shut up,” she says with a smile, taking her hands back and settling them on his chest, “trust me, you have.”

 She's not even sure what she's trying to get out of this.  It's fun, playful, adventurous, but she doesn't know what she wants, what he does.  It could be easy to just make out for a while, leave it at that, but there's something in the way John grabs at her, something in the way her body fits against his so easily, and she knows they deserve this.  She knows that they deserve to be reckless, to have fun.

He holds on to her and lays her out as best he can across the backseat, leaning in to kiss at the skin of her abdomen, slowly making his way up to the dull and very practical bra she’s already working on getting rid of. He helps her out of it, still silent as he tries to cover every inch of exposed skin with the touch of his lips, like he’s been waiting just for this and nothing else.

Along the street they’re hiding from, a car passes; the headlights illuminating them for long enough for it to feel dangerous. He’s got his mouth on one of her breasts, his hand on another, and she forgets how it’s not as fun to look at them anymore – how they’re not the perky perfect things they used to be. He hardly seems to care and they feel as fantastic when they’re being worshipped as they ever have. Her hips rock involuntarily when he feels him hard and pressed against her thigh.

Her hands have been hanging most uselessly at her sides, but she lifts them now, rakes her finger nails down his back and enjoys the appreciative noise in her ear when he leans in to kiss her neck.

“How long has it been,” he whispers as he thumbs at the button of her jeans, “since someone’s told you how impossibly beautiful you are?”  


She could almost laugh, she so surprised by what the sound of his voice in that hushed tone does to her.  
“And meant it? Without ulterior motives? Oh, a while,” she breathes out, “a really long while.”

His eyes are locked on hers, his hand resting just atop the open front of her jeans. It takes her a moment just to recognize that he’s waiting for some sort of green lights, that he’s every bit the gentleman, and is probably worrying himself silly over the fact that they’re hooking up like kids in the back of his car. She leans up and kisses him, rests a hand at the back of his head and gives a little tilt to her hips as she urges him on.

When his hand slips inside, there’s enough space between herself and he jeans for her to feel how wet she is, to separate the obvious warmth from her own heat and she knows there’s no need to be embarrassed but she hides her face against his neck anyway. She clings to him moaning too loud in the silence of the car when he slips his fingers inside of her.

“John,” she pants out, “oh my God.”  
He shushes her, his finger working at a torturously slow pace, “You alright?”  
She nods, her head shaky but relentless as his hand on her. “Yeah – yes ohmygod right there.”

She’s pulled away just enough to see his smile and when he pulls his hand away just long enough to press another finger into her she claws at his back, her eyes glancing at the heady sight of his hand disappearing between her legs.

She can feel herself dissolving into a mess of writhing and moaning and by the time she’s so so close he’s got her jeans around her ankles and his body between her legs. He’s still working his fingers inside her, she can feel it with her eyes closed, but they snap open and she shouts when she feels the cool slick tongue against her. One of her hands is splayed ridiculously on the window behind her while the other is carded into his hair, not pushing or pulling but just resting there as he mouths and licks at her like it’s his favorite job.

She tries to warn him, he can probably feel the way her muscles tighten and her legs clench and it seems to spur him on. He grabs a the back of her thighs and when she finally let’s go he stays there, his measured thrusts becoming gentle until he eases off her and moves up her body.

“That was,” she says as she tries to have her breath, “that was- “

She kicks her jeans the rest of the way off, her panties still ruined and shoved over to show her open and wet and wrecked.

He can feel his smiles as his wet mouth touches her neck, “Good?”

“The best,” she finally manages, “how do you –“

He leans his forehead against hers and laughs, “I’m not a kid, you know? I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.”

She moves her shaky come stupid hand down his chest and over the hard bulge of him, making him hiss.

“You don’t – I – we don’t …”  
He keeps spluttering as she works his belt open and tugs at the button and the zipper and finally holds her hand still before she can move to get rid of  them all together.

“I don’t exactly have anything with me,” he says with that adorable blush of his, “it’s honestly been a few years.”  
Her eyebrows climb up her forehead and she can see the blush get deeper and brighter on his stupidly beautiful face.

“Well good things I have very boring medical reasons for being on the damn pill,” she laughs quietly, “because there’s no way we’re not doing this – unless you don’t want to.”

He surges in to kiss her again, his teeth catching on his lips in a teasing bite. “Seem like I don’t want to?”  


She grins, still exhausted from coming and banging her head against the car door. They shove away at his pants just enough and then she’s pushing him up, sitting him and crawling up on his lap when another car passes in the distance, illuminating her and letting her catch a glimpse of him, hard and red and leaking and so gorgeous she wants to moan, can’t help it when she does. She feels properly like a teenager now, naked and ready in the back of a car, as likely to get caught as anything as she sinks down onto him like it was meant to be that way.

He groans, holding her by the small of the back as he leans forward to thrust along with her, his free hand and her head resting against the metal grating of the partition.

It’s been years since she’s felt this way, adored and desired, stretched out and full of someone else. He’s hot inside her and perfect and she doesn’t know how he’s holding out this long but the hand at the small of her back moves to the space between them, thumb playing lightly at her clit to get her to that place again. The way he pushes into her is even and calm and determined, not rushed and racing to release without a thought of her. It isn’t until she’s clenching and tight and moaning into his ear again that his thrusts get short and erratic.

She kisses at his jaw, his cheek, the crinkled skin beside his eyes and the corner of his mouth. “It’s okay; come on, you can have this, you can have me.”

As soon as she whispers those words he loses it, clings with both hands to the metal grating behind her and thrusts three vigorous times before he comes, spilling hot and messy into her.

They fall as horizontally as possible on the seat; his arms wrapped lose and warm around her waist.

She checks her phone, sees a goodnight text from Scott from fifteen minutes ago telling her that he and Stiles will take the couch while Malia takes his bed.

“Kids are alright,” she says quietly, “so I guess we’re not awful parents.”

He kisses her shoulder. “You’re the best parent I know.”

“I guess little rebellious Mel is gone,” she says with a laugh.

He hums quietly, running a hand over her tattoo. “No, I wouldn’t say that.”

“We should get home,” she says quietly, “only I’m not sure you’re okay to drive.”

“I could probably manage it,” he yawns.

She laughs, maybe it’s true that her rebellious side isn’t lost after all if the way she grins as she drives the Sheriff’s cruiser down the thankfully empty streets back to her house in rumpled jeans and a sweat damp shirt is anything to go by. It’s worth it to give up their secret undercover exploits, worth it to wake up the sounds of her son and his wondering what the hell his car is doing in the drive way and where hers is. It’s worth it, really, when he pulls her close to his chest and softly asks if maybe they don’t deserve the morning off as well. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone who believed that I could write without Lyss. Thank you to Lyss for being there when I couldn't write without her.
> 
> Edit: Oops, almost forgot, Melissa's tattoo: http://www.lovebirdtattoos.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/tattoo-_bird-_blue-_jay-_bluejay-_hip-_side-_black-_white-_colorless-_all-_branch-_flowers-_lea.jpg


End file.
